


How Things Are

by Guy_Fleegman



Category: Breaking Bad
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Gen, How Do I Tag, Hurt/Comfort, My first fic, No Slash, Walt's kind of a monster, and season three, protective mike, sad Jesse Pinkman, set in Season Two
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-21
Updated: 2017-05-06
Packaged: 2018-10-22 01:32:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10687017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Guy_Fleegman/pseuds/Guy_Fleegman
Summary: This story takes you through Mikes thoughts on how "The Great Heisenberg" is pulling in and ruining his drug addicted partner, Jesse. And how Mike decides to deal with it.My first fic on this site, please R&R.





	1. Chapter 1

Mike Ehrmantraut does his job, and he does it well. He doesn't ask questions, or get hung up on whether or not what he's doing is right or wrong, because he knows it's wrong. He has a reputation of being a loyal and straightforward man, which goes over well with getting jobs. Never has he reneged on a deal or changed his mind half way through, and he most certainly has never cared about the people involved in a job. 

Mike operated like this for his entire life, and nobody changed that, until Gustavo Fring. When Mike first got hired by Gus, he was wary of the man, for he didn't know what his intentions were. After a while though, Mike became more and more loyal, even disregarding his moral code for the man every once and a while, something which Mike scarcely did. 

After a while, Mike had worked out a sort of ranking system, where he would put who he was most loyal to and who he had extreme devotion to. The rankings were as follows: His granddaughter and her mom, Eliot Jones, Gustavo Fring, Saul Goodman, and Sofía Perez. These people had all done things to earn Mike's devotion, which was not an easy feat. 

The ranking and order of said ranking had not been altered for years, but that would soon change in a way that Mike would never have thought possible. 

Things changed drastically for, not only Mike, but everyone even remotely connected with the meth industry, when a new cook popped up out of nowhere. Blue meth was the new make and model of what Gus was selling, and that was the beginning of the end. The down fall of Gus' empire. At the time, there was no way to know what was about to unfold in the near future, but looking back, it was laughable how blind they all were. 

Walter White, the biggest thorn in Mike's side, was the great Heisenberg. Mike first lay eyes upon the man, when Saul Goodman asked Mike to track down the Chemistry teacher-turned meth cook, and watch him. Mike watched Walt, as he was told to do, but he did more than that, he observed the man. 

Wake up, eat breakfast with his family, go to work, teach, come home, and spend some time with his wife and son. That was what Walter's life seemed to consist of, that same cycle. That is, until, four days into Mike's stakeout, Walt did the thing that Mike had been waiting for. He snuck off. 

Traffic was heavy that day, but that didn't deter Mike from following Walt to his secret location. As he was driving, Mike started to file away in his mind, all the information he'd gathered on White. 

The man was driven, almost too driven. He was bound to be blinded by his ambition sooner or later. He loved his family, which is the supposed reason why he got into the drug business, though, Mike had his own thoughts on that. And, the worst of all was, Walter White was smart, and he knew it. There is nothing more dangerous than a blind, intelligent man, who believes he's doing the right thing. 

Self-proclaimed Heisenberg, pulled onto the side of the road next to a slightly jaded house, and ran up to the front, rapping his hand against the door. Mike stopped his car just out of sight, and retrieved his ever present binoculars. 

Age had pulled no punches when it came to Mike Ehrmantraut, it had taken his hair, his muscles, and his sense of smell, but it had granted him one gift. His sight was better than it had ever been, allowing him to see perfectly through the binoculars. Mike was also grateful that he'd taken the time to learn how to read lips, for it has been an invaluable asset throughout his entire career. 

White was yelling something, a name, but he hadn't turned around yet, so Mike couldn't read his lips, but patience was something that Mike had an overabundance of, so he sat there, waiting. 

After around ninety seconds, someone answered the door, a kid. Well, he was most likely in his early twenties, but Mike instantly categorized and dubbed him as 'The kid'. White started harshly whispering to the kid, waving his hands about, almost thwacking the kid in the face. Once Walt calmed down, the kid started talking, and lucky for Mike, the kid was facing directly toward him. 

"Look," The kid said, looking nervous, his eyes darting around in every direction. "I think we should lay low for a couple of days, ya know? Yo, after what happened, I just..." He trailed off for a moment before starting again. "Mister White, is it really a good idea to, ya know," The kid leaned in closer to Walt. "Start cookin' again?" 

Mike resisted the urge to roll his eyes. 'What is White thinking, working with this obvious junkie?' Mike thought, his eyes never leaving the kid's lips. And that was when Walter did something that surprised and perplexed Mike. He put his hand on the kid's shoulder. Walt made himself a little bit smaller, in order to see the kid eye-to-eye, for the kid was a good four inches shorter than White, and began talking to him. 

No matter how far Mike leaned to the side, he simply couldn't see Walter's lips, so the only reference Mike had to go by was the kid's face, and fortunately, the kid was extremely expressive. Mike took note of the kid's remarkably blue eyes, not unlike Walter's, but to Mike they were worlds apart. 

The drug addicted kid's eyes somehow seemed innocent and naive, yet aged and hurt. The kid looked dangerously human, something that would get him killed in the future. Whereas, the great Heisenberg's eyes, were cold and calculating, intense and cynical. 

Fear was merely one of the curious amalgam of emotions that were flashing across the kid's face, at the speed of light. Mike watched intently with a keen eye, picking up what he could. Walt was clearly attempting to persuade the kid into cooking with him again, something that Mike believed would not be happening any time soon, based on the way the kid is acting. 

But, again, Mike was surprised, when the kid started nodding his head along with Walt's. Mike was familiar with the delicate technique of manipulation, and he was a bit repulsed at the way White so blatantly used said technique on the impressionable kid, but it wasn't his job to get involved, so he didn't. 

Once the day had ended, and Walter and the kid parted ways, Mike drove back to his own house, and figured out what he was going to do with the information he'd gotten. Saul was the one who sent him out to watch White, but Gus had been looking for Heisenberg ever since his meth reared it's bright blue head on Gus' territory. 

After he'd made his decision, to inform them both of everything he had learned, Mike warmed up some soup in the microwave and sat down in front of the TV, putting on hi favorite western movie, and enjoying the rest of his night, not giving Walt or the kid, a second thought.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the next chapter, please enjoy and leave your thoughts in the comments. :) 
> 
> Also, I obviously do not own Breaking Bad or anything even remotely related to it. So, don't go thinking I do.

Mike doesn't get emotionally involved in cases, he just doesn't. Until he does. It had been a couple of weeks since Mike was first put on the case of Heisenburg, and he'd all but forgotten about the man's unstable partner, until he got a phone call. 

Once Mike had gotten Saul to calm down and tell him what happened, Mike gave his assurances that he would deal with it. The gist of the situation was that the kid, whose name was apparently Jesse, him and his girlfriend had gotten high together, and at some point in the night, the girlfriend had rolled onto her back and choked to death on her own vomit.

Now, cleaning up "messes" such as this one, was Mike's specialty, and Mike was far past caring for any of the drug addicts that bit it, or god forbid, lost all their drugs. But that doesn't mean he enjoys the job, and he most definitely doesn't enjoy the fights the addicts start when he takes away their drugs, so he's got that to look forward to once he arrives. 

After getting the address of the kid's house, Mike got in his car and drove silently to his destination, his mind playing possible outcomes, yet abstaining from thinking too hard on what the task at hand actually entails. That's the only way of coping with the kind of things he does and still being able to sleep at night, is to convince yourself that either A) They deserved whatever happened to them, and that was usually the one Mike went with, what with most of the "messes" he's dealt with weren't good people in the eyes of even their own grandmother. 

And the other option, is option B) That it wasn't real. It was a simple idea really, any child could do it, but Mike fought with this option often, not quite able to convince himself, which is expected, he's a grown man who's seen death since he can remember. But, sadly, option B was the one he must go with this time, for the other just didn't fit as it should in Mike's brain. Hell, maybe he was going soft. 

The house was easy enough to spot, what with the familiar face of the kid greeting him oh-so-kindly. Pulling onto the opposite side of the street, Mike walked across to the house, all the while glancing in both directions for witnesses, and thankfully not a soul was in sight. 

The kid looked much worse than the last time Mike had seen him, and that was saying something. His eyes were red and puffy, as if he'd been sobbing his heart out, which was odd to Mike, for most addicts would only be worrying about getting caught with the drugs. Track marks were also clearly visible along the kid's skinny, pale arms, the marks looked irritated, much more than they should have. 'Probably infected' Mike dejectedly mused, walking up to the stairs that the kid was sitting on. 

"Inside," Mike says with a jerk of his head in the direction of the door. The kid doesn't move at first, merely stares at the ground, a hand rubbing slowly at the back of his neck. Rolling his eyes, Mike grabs Jesse's upper bicep and drags him to his feet. The kid sways slightly, but Mike doesn't let go until he's sure the kid won't fall on his face. 

Once inside, Mike drops the kid against a wall and orders him to stay there. The house, if you could even call it that, looks more like a druggy nightclub. The walls are covered in graffiti that couldn't even pass as "Artistic Expression", a strange, sticky substance that Mike doesn't even want to know what it is, is pooled on the ground, and discarded pizza can be found literally everywhere. 'Nice place' He thinks, making his way up to the bedroom where the girl's body lies. 

 

After checking to make sure that it doesn't appear as though Jesse killed her, and that it is a clear-cut overdose, Mike starts gathering all the drugs in the house, and loading them into his large bag. While he is checking the bedroom for any hidden stashes he can't help but glance over at the girl. Her face is coated in puke, making the image that much more horrendous. There are purple bruises blooming across her chest, showing that the kid must have performed CPR, but obviously not in time to save her. 

Does her death bother Mike? Only if he dwells on it for too long, which is why once he's sure there are no more hidden drugs in the room, he picks up his bag, and leaves without another glance at the body. 

Most of the house has been searched when Mike decides to simply ask the kid if there are any secret places where he's put extra drugs. Hauling the bag down the stairs, he drops it to the ground, and places a blue hookah inside of it. 

"Any other drugs in the house?" he asks, directing his eyes to the kid, who, miraculously, hadn't moved from where Mike put him. When Jesse doesn't answer, Mike stands up and stalks over to him, and looking down at him says, "Think hard, your freedom depends on it." Still no verbal answer, but Mike sees that the kid is shaking his head ever slightly, still not looking up to make eye contact though. 

"What about guns? You got any guns in the house?" The kid takes in a small breath and shakes his head again. Mike thinks that Jesse looks rather pitiful right at the moment, and this is the first time in a long while that Mike has felt anything for any of the many drug addicts he's come in contact with over the years. It should have indicated to him that there was something different about this kid, but instead he just shrugged off the feeling and continued on with the job. 

Mike leans down in front of the kid, only a few inches between them. "Here's what you're going to say," Mike whispers, not conscious of the fact that he is being quiet in order to not frighten the kid, which is yet another thing he has never done before. "I woke up, I found her, that's all I know." He gestures for the kid to repeat, but, again, he is met with silence and lack of eye contact. 

Rolling his eyes, Mike reaches out and slaps the kid, causing blue eyes to snap up and meet his gaze. "I woke up, I found her, that's all I know," Mike says, slowly and clearly enunciating each sound. 

"I-I woke up, I found her, that's a-all I know," The kid stutters out quickly, not breaking eye contact with the older man. Mike signals for him to repeat it again, which Jesse complies to without hesitation. After one more practice run, Mike pushes himself to a standing position once again, and hands the kid a phone. 

"Count to twenty and then dial 911, and put on a long sleeved shirt, don't want the police seeing those track marks," he orders, picking up his bag and casting a last glance around the room. Before stepping out the door, he catches the kid's face. New tears had welled up in his eyes, and he was biting down on his lip trying to keep them from falling. The expression, plus the fact that Jesse was the size of a middle schooler, made him look like an actual child. In Mike's eyes at least. 

The words "See ya around, kid" were on the tip of Mike's tongue, but Mike decided against it, and left without another sound.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, this is my first story on this site, so please, read and review what you think so far, and let me know if I should continue or not. Thanks :)


End file.
